Monday, March 24, 2014

Poem: Casino


Jeremy watches the
dingo babylon and wonders

Something to do with black stockings,
warpaint over the eyes,
consumption of festering liquids,
ribonucleic lottery.

Arriving inside a naked other seems
inexplicable, a keno juggle,
waking dream.

To frame the self in frosted glass,
mealy-mouthed biography, scripted lines,
and come away with blue ribbons.
One must credit the aficionado,
who sees some human charge
far beneath the skin, enough to
invite a physical invasion,
this rude flamenco.

Still, one is grateful. 
From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV

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